And slowly, impossibly, it worked.
Elena was not alone. Six other operatives stood in a semi-circle, each holding a strange, gleaming instrument. She recognized Marcus from Accounting Infiltration—he looked pale, clutching a silver trumpet like a weapon he didn’t know how to fire. Next to him, Priya from Data Sanitization nervously fingered the valves of a flugelhorn. Tps Brass Section Module
“A tenor trombone,” he corrected, as if that made it more reasonable. “Report to Sublevel 7. And bring a mouthpiece.” Sublevel 7 had always been a myth among TPS operatives—a rumored place where they sent people who failed their quarterly performance reviews. The elevator opened onto a long, soundproofed corridor that smelled of valve oil and anxiety. And slowly, impossibly, it worked
She raised her baton. “Page 1. ‘Fanfare for the Common Process.’ And agent—try to sound like you mean it.” What followed was three hours of the most humiliating, glorious, and terrifying training of Elena’s life. “Report to Sublevel 7
All TPS Cover Operatives Re: Mandatory Brass Section Module Training
Elena raised a hand. “Director, I once convinced a man to outsource his own mother’s birthday party. I feel plenty.”